


Journey Plus Destination: Strangers on a Train

by Viridian5



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, M/M, Relationship Negotiation, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-02-14
Updated: 2000-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 07:24:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser and Ray are forced to confront some issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Journey Plus Destination: Strangers on a Train

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for "Asylum" and "Mountie on the Bounty."
> 
> There may be more to come. Being Viridian of the 5,000 projects, I just have no idea when. I've already struggled with this for months.... It doesn't help that all the cold, ice, and snow here lately makes it harder for my writing mind to go to New Orleans.
> 
> The train ride depicted here was extrapolated off my ride on Amtrak's "Crescent" train from New York to New Orleans. I've never been on the "City of New Orleans" train from Chicago to New Orleans, so it could be an utterly different experience. My account of the trip that inspired this story is [here](http://viridian.shriftweb.org/new_orleans.html).
> 
> For the record, I enjoyed _Night Court_.

Fraser methodically checked every seat as he walked down the aisle. The dim gold light illuminated all the passengers as they attempted to sleep or succeeded. He'd already finished his similar survey of two of the train cars.

Fraser's face showed no expression, but in his mind he screamed like a bereft child. //I compromised! You can't leave! You said you would stay. You said you would stay. You can't leave! I compromised....// ran in an endless loop. His anger, grief, terror, and love raged so strongly within him that he felt as if he were caught in a hurricane.

He felt a little relief, though. Fraser's quarry had begun with a substantial head start, but determination had narrowed it down. Finding the method of travel, the destination, the train itself, followed by finding a way to catch up with the train, had all taken precious time and patience. He'd reached it at last at 1 a.m.

Eager to help, Turnbull had been an invaluable aid with research, halving the work. If he had a car, he no doubt would have driven like a demon to get Fraser to the train.

Ren was a romantic, after all.

Like many of the other passengers who had a seat unoccupied next to them, Fraser's quarry was curled across two seats, his long body just about tied into a knot to try to fit the small space. His head, with its spiky blond hair, had a tiny pillow under it propped atop the metal armrest. He had his arms crossed over his face, perhaps to block out the intrusive light.

Fraser wanted to fall upon Ray and shake him awake, to hit him or kiss him or both, he did not know. He wanted to shout loud enough that he would wake the train. He couldn't think or move, could barely even breathe, just stare.

Then Ray twisted a little, trying to burrow deeper into the cushions, and made a small, hurt sound that struck Fraser to the heart.

Fraser couldn't face Ray in this state of mind. He would pour out his bile, his love, his heart. That he'd even considered striking his partner horrified him; doing it once, after Ray had begged him to in an attempt to even the score, had felt too good and hurt too much all at once. As for kissing Ray.... That too was something he was afraid he couldn't stop once he started, and it would be just as violent.

Fraser settled into an empty seat behind Ray's. Waiting would be good for him.

Over the next seven hours, Fraser dozed with his eyes open and listened to Ray breathe. That calmed him a little, though at first he started to get up every time Ray's breathing lightened out of sleep. He soon learned to ignore it, since it happened at least once an hour. Apparently Ray found the seats even more uncomfortable than Fraser did, because he kept moving around and waking up. Sometimes he tried to use his own chair as a recliner, but he kept returning to his position across the two seats. Fraser figured that the metal seat divider would be digging into Ray's ribs. If he found that _more_ comfortable....

Fraser tried not to think, but waiting in the near-dark left him with little else to do. He kept seeing Ray: shocked and angry, doubled over after being struck by him, set and mournful, soaking wet and scared, soaking wet and angry, drowning, intent and luminous as they discussed strategy across the hold in hand signs, smiling as they both refused their transfers. Smiling. Yet four days later, Ray had left in a rush on this train, leaving only a terse note, no reasons provided.

In his heart, Fraser knew why. It was him. Ray had run away from him, because of him.

Fraser had found a good excuse for coming to the train by convincing himself that Ray was in danger, which would explain the abrupt note and departure, but what he'd wanted to do once he reached the train was find Ray and drag him back by any means necessary. Any means. Ray's wants and needs hadn't figured into it at all. At one dark point, Ben had even considered binding and gagging his partner if he faced resistance. He'd thought longingly of Ray being forced to stay in the consulate after the Volpe murder, subject to his will. //_Mine_. And he can't ever leave....//

//Wrong. _Wrong_. No wonder he fled from me.//

At 8:10 a.m., Ray's breathing lightened into full wakefulness and stayed that way. Fraser stood up into the aisle and looked at him. Ray sat curled in the window seat, booted feet on the footrest, face partly leaning against the window. Light filtered through the dirty, tinted window gleamed dully off Ray's unruly hair. His gaze seemed to look far away and deep inward all at once. He looked beautiful but miserable.

//Did I do that to him?// Once again, Ben couldn't move or speak. He could only stare.

  


* * *

Aching, Ray felt so tired. Between the hard seats and his own harder thoughts, sleep had been impossible. At best, he'd managed a fitful doze.

The window glass felt cold against his face, even though he knew the train was down South by now. Outside, vines strangled everything--hills, bushes, trees--under a sinister carpet, transforming the landscape. Last night's seat mate, gone this morning during a stop at 12:30 a.m., had mentioned the infamous kudzu, brought over from Japan in World War II to battle erosion, only to become an uncontrollable menace here, a parasite. There must have been a drought for the vines to look that brown and dead. They gave him a gut-deep feeling of oppression and revulsion. As they were now, they made the countryside resemble that scene in _Kingdom of the Spiders_ that had always freaked Ray out the worst, the one where the movie ended with the whole town completely covered in spider webs.

//So, I'm away. Do I understand what's going on with me, _in_ me, yet? What's going on with me and Fraser? Who I am when he's not around?//

Something made Ray turn his head. "Jesus!" he gasped as he saw Fraser, in his Mountie uniform, standing there in the aisle. Watching him. For how long?

"Good morning, Ray," Fraser said without his usual warmth, then sat next to Ray.

Even though Ray had to restart his heart, he wasn't entirely surprised. He'd thought that Fraser might come after him. He'd spent last night afraid that Fraser would, afraid that Fraser wouldn't.

Fraser radiated tension and said nothing. It reminded Ray of that charged feeling the world sometimes got before it rained.

The silence choked him, but he wanted to delay The Talk he knew was coming. If he could just endure the silence, stay strong, avoid thinking that Fraser felt angry and hurt....

"I don't think train travel is for me," Ray said suddenly as he looked back toward the window. Talking felt like getting that first breath of air after the long, dangerous swim in the Henry Allen, painful yet good and necessary.

"Why not?" Fraser asked like a perfect straight man. Ray had a sudden image of the two of them in an old movie as vaudeville performers, each feeding the other lines like: "And why is that, Mr. Ray?"

Yeah, it had been a rough night.

"I like road trips. Cars are way better for traveling than trains."

To Ray's relief, Fraser continued to play along. "Yet trains are more economical and better for the environment."

"Wow. That was a big Canadian moment. Look, we Americans love our cars. If they'd been around back then, the right to drive would be guaranteed in the Bill of Rights, I swear. Getting out on the road and just _going_...." It was the American Dream: if you just kept moving, everything would work out fine. "It's mythic. Like going on a pilgrimage. We all think about heading out West, traveling Route 66 in a classic convertible...."

"I thought that was more marketing than mythology, Ray."

"Maybe. But maybe marketing has become mythology; ya ever think of that? And when you drive you can stop and start where and whenever ya want. Eat when ya want, sleep when ya want. Driving is like casting your vote, self-determination. Free expression. Behind the wheel, you are the master of your own destiny. If you see something on the side of the road you could just pull over fer a visit. Going by car leaves you open to the happy surprises, the stuff you never knew existed and wouldn't find any other way. Damn, what do you call that happy surprise thing, starts with an S...."

"Serendipity?"

To Ray's relief, their conversation almost sounded normal. Well, for them. "Yeah! Exactly. See, a plane is great if you want to just get somewhere. With a car, what you see and do along the way is part of the point. Airplanes are all about destination, but road tripping by car is journey plus destination. It's spiritual-like."

"What does that have to do with trains?"

"Trains take longer and let you see stuff along the way, but you can't open the window to feel the sun on yer skin or smell the air. You're held apart from it; it doesn't touch you. You might as well be at home watching TV with scenery like that. It's like being handcuffed just out of reach of yer favorite food while you're starving. Since you can't interact, you should just take the plane. And you have no control. You move when the train goes. You have to stop at assigned stops that have nothing to do with what you wanna do."

And Ray had realized that you couldn't lose yourself on a train. If anything, train travel gave you too much time to think about exactly who you were. Sometimes you didn't really want to know who you were as much as you thought you did. //Found that out for myself. Still don't know who I am, but I'm not so sure I like some of the stuff I'm seeing in my head anyway.//

Fraser's voice made a welcome distraction from that train of thought. "So you're saying that you prefer to feel in control, to have the ability to start and stop when you like."

"Yeah, but doesn't everybody?" //I get the feeling he's not just talking about traveling anymore. Huh. In a way, I think I'm not either.//

"Ray, why did you go?" Fraser's voice was so quiet, but Ray could hear the hurt.

It was The Talk, looming over him like an 800-pound gorilla. "I just needed to get away fer a bit. Leaving, distance, gives you a better look around you at your every day, usual life. It's like one of those Impressionist paintings where it looks like a smear of nothing up close but makes more sense if ya look at it from far away. Makes a picture. That Harry Anderson thing--"

"Henry Allen," Fraser said in a monotone, as if he didn't _really_ care but was physically incapable of letting a mistake pass unnoticed. Not his normal way.

//Damn, usually he gets such a kick out of it when I give him something to correct me on.// "Fraser...."

"We weren't aboard the actor."

"If ya wanna call him that. Anyway, the boat... the ship thing was stressful, and I needed time and someplace different to think." Ray leaned closer to the window to try to get away from the tension thrumming from the seat next to him. He didn't succeed. "I left you a note. I didn't want you to worry."

Fraser pulled it out of his Stetson and carefully unfolded it. "Yes, your note. 'Need to be away for a while. Be back in a few days. Ray.'" He sounded dead and cold.

"Says it all, I think."

"It says nothing."

Ray couldn't breathe. Fraser was seeing this as deeply personal. //And why not? Sure, ya realized you almost died multiple times in that last thing we worked on, but it's really all about him. He's the one you're running from. "Fraser-knows-best" him and his crazy life and the way he makes your life crazy and the way you want to just grab him and kiss him again anyway....// "I felt like I had to move fast."

"You had the time to tell Francesca to feed your turtle."

"He's not like you or Dief; he can't hunt or gather. It'd be cruel to leave him to starve. Besides, I think he was pissed that I got involved in the Henry Anderson thing--"

"Allen."

Normally Ray would have joked around by asking, "The Allen Anderson?" but now didn't feel right for it at all. Instead, Ray said, "I think he was pissed I went off after the ghost ship without making sure somebody took care of him."

When that met with silent agreement, Ray had to swallow a smile. Most people would have immediately replied, "He's a _turtle_; how could he pissed at anyone? And how do you tell anyway?" But Fraser just had a look of utter belief on his face. If Ray believed that his turtle was upset, it must have been upset. The way Diefenbaker tended to be pissy all the time just made it more possible.

Met with dead silence, Ray started to talk, needing to fill it. "Fraser, it's like why I'm going to New Orleans. It's not Mardi Gras now, and I'm not all that big on jazz. I like it, but it's not a passion. I'll have a drink once in a while, but I try to stay away from heavy drinking since-- Well, that don't matter. I'm only going to New Orleans because I needed someplace completely different from Chicago, and the train was leaving at the right time. The trip down's gonna be about 20 hours long, after all. In _coach_. With my back? I'm already dying here. I... I don't even remember the ride to the train station." Ray managed to shut up after that.

Ray hadn't meant to say that much, be that honest. If he hadn't stopped there, he might have coughed up everything he felt about Fraser too.

But somehow he got the feeling that his confession had helped, that Fraser didn't feel so hurt and angry at him anymore. At least, Ray didn't get those vibes now. He turned to look at his partner. He had to look away again. Fraser looked so concerned.

"I didn't know you were in such difficulty, Ray." Fraser's voice made it sound that the Mountie felt he _should_ have known.

"Well, it wasn't your fault." //Yes, it was! All of it! Everything was fine until you _touched_ me....// Ray told that inner voice to shut up. "It only hit me yesterday. I was fine for almost four days, then I was filling out some boring report and bam!"

"I assumed.... We have faced death before."

//Yeah, that's all there is to it. Keep on believing that, buddy.// "Yeah, and I'm a cop, which ups the possibility of me not dying in bed of old age. I kinda accepted the thought that some mook with a gun could end it all for me. Occupational hazard. Drowning wasn't part of that. Wandering lost under the lake in some sub until we died of thirst or turned on one another wasn't part of that."

"You think I could turn on you, Ray?"

Ray swallowed. "Not really. I couldn't turn on you neither. I _could_ see you trying to sacrifice yourself for me, though, and that would kill me." Unable to deal with how soppily emotional he was getting, Ray lightened his tone and asked, "So, how did you get Amtrak to cough up the goods on me?"

"I told them you left your anti-psychotic medicine at home, and it was vital I bring it to you."

Ray turned to look at Fraser. "You told 'em I was a psycho?"

"Not at all. I merely told them you had a mental illness that you needed help managing, help that I had to provide. It was that or claim you were a criminal; they would not help me track you any other way. I commend them for their regard for their customers' privacy. Besides, you function perfectly well as long as you take your medication."

"So I'm not just a psycho, I'm a _forgetful_ psycho? Geez, I'm never gonna be able to take Amtrak again."

"You did say you never wanted to take the train again," Fraser said in his prissiest voice, but the warmth beneath it made Ray feel a bit better.

But not better enough to avoid needling Fraser. "Wiseass. You lied your way to finding me."

"I felt you were in danger, so I bent the rules slightly."

"Are you pulling an 'ends justify the means' on me here? You?"

"Not at all. Desperate times need desperate measures."

"Ends justifying the means."

Fraser sidestepped it nicely. "I was worried about you."

"Yeah. Yeah, so was I." //Damn, why don't I just give it all away? Idiot.// Ray took a deep breath. "So. What're you gonna do now?"

"I don't understand."

"You found me; you caught up with me; you know I'm okay. What now?"

"I didn't... didn't think that far ahead."

The confession--that peek beneath the Mountie mask of ever-preparedness, ever-knows-bestness--surprised Ray. With his upset gone or at least lessened, Fraser seemed to have been left at a loss. Ray had a thought about lightening the atmosphere by joking about Fraser tying him up and hauling him back to Chicago but didn't do it. He had an odd feeling that he might not like the response he got.

"We're already more than halfway to New Orleans, Frase."

"Understood."

//I doubt it.// "Do... do you wanna go with me? I mean, strictly speaking, that's what you're doing now, but you're doing it passive-like. The train's going there, you're on the train, so you're going to New Orleans. I mean, do you _want_ to end up there with me, stay a little while?"

Fraser looked surprised. "Do you want me to, Ray?"

//Do I?// He'd gotten on the train to get _away_ from Fraser, but he'd taken Fraser with him in his head even before the Mountie had arrived in the flesh. The boring ride so far had given him too much time to think and brood. Maybe he should just let The Talk happen if it was inevitable, and if having Fraser sitting next to him with nothing else to do for eight hours brought it on faster, at least he wouldn't have to wait for it and worry anymore.

"Yeah. If you want to." It made Ray feel oddly better.

Fraser nearly glowed, but then his face fell. "I have my duties. Besides, I don't have much money, and I certainly don't have much with me."

"Call the Ice Queen and get some days off. You never take any. Tell her that it's to take care of a friend or something. And credit cards aren't just for picking locks. We can get you some clothing when we arrive."

"Ray?"

"You're not gonna wear that uniform for days and days."

"I will pay you back."

"Whatever. It's okay. But you are not getting us involved in anything justice-oriented while we're in town, do ya understand me? You think Chicago law enforcement doesn't appreciate Mounties mixing it in? New Orleans police would be, like, 100 times worse. And I can't do a thing because I'm a Chicago flatfoot _way_ outta my jurisdiction. We're in town as civilians. You get me?" Ray decided not to mention the NOPD's famous reputation for corruption. Last thing he needed was Fraser getting on his white horse to call a crusade.

"Understood."

"Good, because I'm not gonna forget we had this little talk."

"Ray, I'll have to purchase a ticket."

"Sure. You can't board the train by force for the way back."

"Of course, but I also have to purchase one for our current ride."

"Why? You're already on!"

"It's the right thing to do."

"Yeah, yeah. Okay. I know you can buy an upgrade from the folks working the train while yer on it, so maybe you can buy tickets that way too. That guy at the end of the car should be able to do it."

"Thank you, Ray. I'll be right back."

"Sure."

  


* * *

To Ben's consternation, the employee refused to let him purchase any tickets no matter how hard and long he persisted. "We're just glad you're here," the man said as he kept casting nervous glances in Ray's direction. Perhaps Ben would have been better off finding someone who hadn't been there last night as he'd made his case for getting on the train.

Ben had the urge to chide the man for discrimination but just accepted graciously with a "Thank you kindly." Asking someone else after this refusal would be rude. He supposed he would have to accept this ride, then get his return ticket when they reached the terminal.

When Ben reached their seats, Ray looked up from the book he was reading and smiled a little. "How is everything?" he asked. He had his glasses on, and Ben lost a moment admiring him in them. The thick, clunky frames didn't flatter his face, wouldn't flatter anyone's face, yet they had such character--they did _something_, indefinable, for Ray--that Ben wished he would wear them more often.

Even aside from the way they improved Ray's ability to see. Ben had tried them on once out of curiosity and been appalled by how strong the prescription truly was. Ray had to be nearly blind without them, yet preferred to conduct his life that way.

"Everything's fine. No, you don't have to stop reading for me. Was I gone that long?"

"Let's put it this way: I was beginning to think ya'd need backup. It's really okay if I read?"

//Was I that frightening during our earlier conversation?// "Please do."

"Thanks, Frase." Ray went back to _The Illustrated Man_.

//I didn't intimidate him into inviting me to be with him, did I?// It didn't seem so; Ray appeared to be relaxed, though still as fidgety as usual. That made the invitation a genuine expression of Ray's feelings.

//But he did invite me, and there's no way he can escape me on this train. Life is already better.//

It also made Ben very glad he'd waited to confront Ray.

Ben passed the time by surreptitiously observing the train car and its passengers. Most of them looked tired and a bit frazzled, directly contradicting the advertisements he saw from this company. All the while he was aware of Ray moving beside him. Ray stretched and turned, crossed his legs under him in what he called Indian style, straightened his legs, adjusted his recliner, started all over again. Ben also noticed that Ray hadn't turned many pages, and he knew his partner read much faster than this.

Ray finally put his book down on the tray and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I should have taken a novel. I love Bradbury, but I keep getting knocked out of the book at the end of each short story." He took off his glasses. "Wait, who's taking care of Dief?"

"Turnbull is looking after him. I'll have to call Ren as well."

"Bet he was pissed at being left out of it."

At first Ben thought Ray referred to Ren but quickly realized whom Ray was talking about. "I fear Diefenbaker will be as upset about it as your turtle was. I didn't have the time to explain the matter to him; I just left."

Ray smirked. "Can I be around when you get back to him? I wanna see that tantrum. Nobody does sullen and ticked off like that wolf does."

"I can't guarantee you that you'll get to see that, but I'm sure you'll be around for the days of wolf-inflicted torment that will follow."

It bothered Ben that they were staying on such doggedly neutral conversational grounds, but at least they were talking. Something about Ray suggested that he needed to be coaxed into relaxing, slowly gentled like you would a cornered animal. It was hard to be patient, but Ben knew the reward of having Ray back would make it more than worth it.

"Y'know, I've never seen so many broken-down, abandoned factories in my life," Ray said. "So much for seeing America by rail."

"Actually, it makes perfect sense. Factories used the rail system to ship their goods. As your country shifts from an industrial to an information technology concentration--"

  


* * *

Much later:

"'Southern serves the South'? Am I missing something here?" Ray asked. "If you name yourself 'Southern,' _shouldn't_ you serve the South?"

"Ray, most of Southern's train cars also claim that 'Southern gives the green light to innovation,' yet almost every car we've seen has appeared to be ancient, badly rusted, and in ill repair."

"Ah. So you're saying the company has lost all touch with reality."

"It would appear so."

"Hey, are we moving fast enough that the trees look like they're speed lines, just moving streaks of color, or do I just need my glasses?"

"Intriguing."

"Cool. We have speed lines."

A nasal voice over the loudspeaker announced the opening of the dining car for lunch and the meal's items. Ray flinched at the sound as if he'd heard nails scratching down a chalkboard. "Guy might think he's the second coming of Walter Winchell, but his voice makes me crazy. What're you grinning about?"

"Irony."

"Whatever." Ray's eyes narrowed, but his good nature remained unfazed. "Was that a crack about my voice?"

"Your accent actually."

"You're the one with the accent, Frase, not me."

"Actually, I enjoy listening to you talk."

"That's as it should be," Ray said with a smile. "I'm hungry. Wanna get some real food?"

  


* * *

Ray looked at his plate with wide eyes. "This is one of the largest pieces of pie anyone has ever expected me to eat." He settled back into the dining car booth seat as if he needed to get further away from the slice to see it in its entirety and understand how to attack it.

Ben had been pleased to watch Ray clean his plate of real, nutritious food after hours of manic snacking, especially since real food could calm him, but didn't know if even Ray could vanquish the monstrous dessert currently on his dish. "Are those shavings of white chocolate piled on top?"

"Yep, and I resent them tainting my chocolate mousse with that sissy fake chocolate." Ray regarded the tall piece of pie. "Well, they say what doesn't kill ya makes ya stronger. Bottoms up."

"I doubt you'll be able to finish it."

"Probably not. Wanna share?"

//It might be too rich....// "All right."

"Great." Ray swept the white chocolate curls off his pie.

"You're not going to eat those?"

"I don't like this stuff. There's no real chocolate in it at all. Always thought that was the worst con when I was a kid. Actually, I still think it's a con."

Ben tried a curl. "It's... very sweet."

"It's cute when you're trying to be diplomatic, but life's too short to eat bad fake chocolate. You can have 'em, if you like."

"No, I think I'll take your advice."

Ray grinned. "You should say that more often." He playfully spun his fork before bringing it down on the pie, making a clinking sound as metal hit the plate. When he slipped it in his mouth, his eyes briefly closed and his lips quirked, giving him a slightly decadent look as he apparently savored his chocolate. "Mmmm. That's the stuff. Dig in."

As Ben remembered the last time he'd seen that look on Ray's face, he had to take a deep breath to beat down his arousal. He distracted himself by reaching across the table to take a small piece for himself. Strong flavors exploded in his mouth, rich, sweet, and bitter all at once. The crunchy crust was an even darker chocolate.

Again, decadent.

"Well?" Ray asked.

"It's excellent, but I think too much would make me sick."

"Yeah, figuring out what 'too much' is may be life's big struggle. More?"

"Yes, please."

It amazed Ben how intimate sharing a piece of pie could seem. They ate in appreciative silence until their forks collided with a loud clatter, meshing the tines. Ray smirked, unlatched his fork, and started to fight Ben's with it.

"Ray, what are you doing?"

"Fork duel. You laid down the gauntlet, and I haveta take it up. Have at ya!"

"Ray!"

"I'm going to keep smacking your fork and making a racket with it until I annoy you into fighting back."

"Is that how it shall be?"

"'Fraid so."

"You leave me with no choice, then."

"None."

They fought in a loud clatter of silverware, annoying some diners and entertaining others, across the table until the waiter asked them to stop. Certain he was flushed with pleasant exertion and embarrassment, Ben sat back and set his weapon on the table. Apparently unrepentant, Ray beamed and laughed under his breath.

"That was fun. More pie?" Ray asked.

"I think not. It seems to be an incitement to riot."

"You're just not used to the sugar rush." Ray savored the rest of the pie at his own speed no matter how darkly the waiter glared at them to try to make them leave. One would think he didn't notice the looks at all.

//One would think that if one didn't notice the darkly mischievous looks Ray's occasionally firing back from under his lashes.// Ben had to keep his hands at his sides just to keep them off Ray.

Ray spent an inordinate amount of time on his last bit of pie before putting cash on top of the bill and getting up to leave. As Ben stood, he gave thanks that his serge tunic hung as far down as it did. He'd enjoyed Ray's antics far too much.

Once they left the dining car, both walking with a precarious sway as the train trundled over a rough patch of rail, Ben said, "You're evil, Ray."

"Payback pure and simple. The employees have been borderline rude all the way. They're polite, but in that nasty, intimidating way. Yesterday I was wandering the cars for a bit because I was bored, and one of them looked me up and down with this sneer and asked, 'Can I help you?' in that way that means 'Get the hell away from me.' Last night, the waiter we just had made me wait to be served for 15 minutes while he shot the shit with one of his buddies. He didn't have any other tables to work on either, so that's no excuse.

"I had fun; you had fun; we didn't hurt nobody. Where's the harm?" The next lurch almost put Ray on an older woman's lap with Ben nearly following. "Sorry, ma'am," Ray said.

"That's all right," she answered with what Ben saw as a lascivious smile. He took Ray's arm under the guise of steadying him and walked them away quickly.

Ben found the water closet facilities at the end of the car. "Excuse me, Ray." He opened the door onto a tiny space, one that was standing room only. "Oh." //So this inability to breathe is what claustrophobia feels like?//

Ray understood instantly. "You can use the handicapped facilities, Frase."

"That would be dishonest."

"Look, nobody's handicapped in this car but you. You have a handicap that won't let ya fit comfortably in something the size of a shoebox. In society at large, that's just common sense. Here, it's a problem, a handicap. So use the other one. I give ya my permission as a Chicago cop. Anybody asks, say the nice policeman made ya do it." He smirked. "The nice policeman who's a psycho."

"Thank you, Ray." Feeling a bit guilty, Ben slid the door open. This facility was small as well, but far more spacious and comfortable by comparison.

When the train lurched again, Ben was wedged in the doorway, but Ray stumbled. Ben grabbed him again, this time fully aware of warm skin beneath his fingers when before he'd just needed to get them away from that woman. //This is how our problems started, but I can't let go.//

"Fraser?"

Ben saw enough answering heat in Ray's eyes to help him pull his partner in with him and slide the door shut and lock it. There was just enough room for two people to stand if they stood very close. This close, Ray's own scent almost blocked out the smells of harsh chemicals, ammonia, and metal. Ben remembered another time, different scents: Ray, serge, pizza, leather, furniture polish, a jarring note of Ren. Their first time.

In the consulate. While on duty, no less. Ben knew he shouldn't have but had been completely unable to help himself....

//Ray twitched under my hands as I started to undo the uniform he looked so wonderful in. Ray shouldn't have been wearing it; it was highly improper, nearly an insult to the Queen, for a non-Mountie to don it, and he'd no doubt convinced Ren to lend it to him under false pretenses. None of that mattered. I was already pondering excuses to dress Ray up again another time.

//"...so Turnbull gave me the uniform off his back, saying his others just wouldn't work." Ray's breathing hitched as I opened the velcro collar, which made the inevitable loud, tearing sound. "Y'know, he wears this kinda citrus scent. I think it's lime. Nothing like you; you're usually either spicy or almond-y. Or kinda pine-scented. It was nice, though. Shit, I'm babbling. Just haven't had anyone un-- Never mind."

// "Hmm." I thought of Ren standing there in his underwear having to dress Ray in the uniform as I was now undressing him. I would have to have a talk with Ren.

//"What does that 'hmmm' mean? It's not like 'ah,' is it?"

//"Does it make a difference?"

//Ray sighed. "Not really. I don't know what your 'ah' means either."

//He was utterly pliant under my fingers. I wanted to stroke him, even more than usual. The uniform truly did flatter him, and I think it made him stand straighter. I told myself that the crackle I perceived between us now was simply a delusion brought on by my desire for him.

//I couldn't undress him while looking at his face, so I stared down at the serge as I worked. "Well then. There you are."

//"Yeah, right back where I started. Nowhere." He fidgeted. "I can't strip out of this rig all easy like you can."

//I almost laughed at the thought of how an ignorant passerby would interpret that sentence. "It just needs practice."

//"Kinky." His voice sounded lower, deeper.

//I finally looked up at him instead of keeping my attention on the tunic buttons. I couldn't possibly misinterpret the heat in his eyes, the way he leaned toward me.

//"Ray...."

//"Yes."

//I knew it wasn't him answering to his name. It was yes.

//I lost and found myself in his kiss.//

Ray's hands clenching on Ben's Sam Browne brought him back from his memories. Ben had to keep his own grip on Ray loose. They both moved in for the kiss. Ben tasted chocolate with an undertone of coffee, and it made him purr to think Ray's mouth tasted almost the same as his. It was so damned good, why couldn't it stay that way?

"You don't know why?" Ray whispered back against Ben's lips.

"I didn't mean to say--"

"I know." Ray moved back against the door. Away. In these close confines that wasn't far, but it made its point. It felt vast. "It was good. It was so damned good I couldn't even remember how to dress myself afterward. Then later you said you were my friend, and I could trust ya, and we did it again."

Ben closed his eyes, remembering how it had felt to strip Ray out of the flannel shirt he'd lent him. Ray had been beaming, incredulous, giving....

"I was drunk on it, on you. I thought... I guess I thought it meant something it didn't really."

"I don't understand."

The stark, white light seemed to drain Ray of color, making him look nearly dead. "You changed with me after that, stopped listening. Stopped trusting my judgment."

Ben opened his mouth to refute that, but he remembered the arguments, remembered that punch. On the replica of the Bounty he'd sworn to listen to and trust in Ray. He would do that. Ray smiled a little, and it warmed Ben to see he'd made the right call.

"I tried to figure out what the hell was going on. I only came up with one conclusion for why you suddenly went all 'I know best, little woman' on me."

"Ray, I would never do that." //Knowingly. Oh, Ray....//

Ray looked miserable. "That's what it _felt_ like. I thought... I thought that maybe you felt contempt for me after I put out like that."

Ben was horrified. "Never, Ray. I would never feel contempt for you for any reason."

"I'm just going on how things felt to me. It freaked the hell out of me, but that was all I could come up with. First it hurt like hell, then it made me really angry. At you. At me. At everything. I'm not the kind of guy who hits people he loves. Ever."

//He warned me first. I heard that warning once. Later he told me he'd said it three times.// "But we resolved that."

"Kinda. In that way of resolving things without actually ever talking about the actual problem. You were listening again. Then I didn't see ya for four days after that and started to wonder how long it would take before the pattern came back. I'm the expert on stupid patterns from the whole Stella campaign. But I was too close, too involved, not thinking clearly."

"You needed to get away for a little while." //It _was_ me. I can track a criminal across the Yukon on the flimsiest of spoor, but I can't see and understand my love's misery when it's right in front of me.// "I'm... neither very good or experienced at this. If I hurt or condescended to you, I can only say that I didn't mean to at all. I love you, Ray."

Ray closed his eyes. "I needed to hear that. Intuition and instinct don't tell me everything, y'know."

At that moment, Ben saw that he wasn't working from a position of total weakness, because Ray wanted and needed him in return. "Now that I know what I was doing, I can avoid it. I want this to work."

"That's good. I do too." Ray smiled. "I'll leave ya alone to do your business now. We've been in here way too long." He closed the door behind him.

Ray's words of mutual devotion should have lessened the weight on Ben's chest but only increased it somehow. //I went too far and nearly drove him away. I'll make this work, whatever it takes. I won't lose him again.//

  


* * *

Ray could barely feel his knees as he walked back to his seat. //Feels like that fight-or-flight thing left me.// No shouting, no accusations, and Fraser had promised to fix things. Fraser had looked hurt, but not as hurt as he might have. The Talk had gone far better than Ray had expected. //Maybe this'll work after all. It'll be good to have him back. I was so damned happy during my time at the consulate... while I was hiding out in "Canada" ducking a frame-up murder charge. I didn't used to be this nuts. I'm as unhinged as he is.//

Before Fraser, Ray's life had been only normal crazy. Okay, "normal crazy" for an often undercover cop was a bit different then regular normal crazy, but partnering with the Mountie had brought things to a new level of strangeness.

And Ray was starting to like it. //Nuts.//

When Fraser came back and sat besides him, Ray had to shake his head at how they were together. Declaring their devotion and nearly getting it on while in the can, no less. //At least I'll never be bored.//

Fraser looked normal, good, which made Ray feel better. Fraser didn't seem to have any hard feelings about The Talk, so New Orleans would be good to go. Ray couldn't help feeling psyched that he'd have company; a trip that had started as a headlong run for cover might turn out to be a fun vacation after all. If clearing the air let them get back to the whatever-it-was they'd started at the consulate, even better. He'd spent so much time wanting to touch Fraser again lately that having license to would be a treat.

Fraser smiled in response, making Ray realize that he'd been smiling at his partner for some time now. //Sometimes I put the "sap" in sappy, but right now I just don't care.//

"How long until we arrive, Ray?"

Ray smirked at the sudden mental image of a Li'l Fraser repeatedly whining, "Are we there yet?" The fact that it would never happen only made it funnier. "Only four more hours until we hit Crescent City. I can't wait."

  


* * *

Five hours later, Ben was beginning to think that if the train ran any further off schedule Ray would explode into tiny pieces or vibrate until he lost molecular integrity, much like the Corvette engines his partner had told him about that eventually shook themselves apart.

Once Ray realized he was being watched, he smiled and said, "Sorry. I just--"

"--hate waiting. You were three weeks premature."

That phrase brought back fond memories and the horrified realization that he could remember with fondness being tied to a chair so the police could find and take Ray away. Ray's presence had made it fond.

Ray's head lying across his boot had helped too.

"Now we're running backwards? Please don't let this be us going back the way we-- Hey, we're backing into the station. Finally!"

Once they reached a full stop, Ray retrieved his carry-on bags from the overhead compartment, and they disembarked. Clinging, humid heat hit them instantly. Ray put his things down on the concrete and stripped off a few top layers, leaving his arms bare to the shoulders, revealing that odd tattoo he had. Ben could only stare like a deer caught in oncoming headlights.

Ray noticed but misinterpreted. "You really should take your tunic off."

Ben had a number of instinctive responses to fight down before he could even answer Ray with an alarmingly distracted-sounding "What?"

"I didn't think this New Orleans thing through for ya. You're from the deep north, and I just brought you to Humidity Town here. I'm getting images of a Frosty-the-Snowman-in-the-greenhouse-style meltdown here. Just a puddle of water where ya used to be. So you should take off your tunic. Besides, you're not a Mountie here, remember? We'll get you regular clothes soon, but I don't think you can afford to stay bundled up till then."

"Understood."

As Ben stripped out of his tunic, he felt cooler but also bereft of some of his usual controls on himself, the constraints of duty. Right now, he didn't mind. Setting aside his usual attire, usual duties, and usual surroundings provided no real excuse, but the usual limitations he put on his behavior no longer seemed as necessary.

Ray had consented. Ray still wanted him....

Ben had a few calls to make, a ticket and clothing to buy, and, no doubt, a hotel to reach. He would do all of these things with his usual even, good nature.

But the moment he had Ray somewhere private and appropriate, he would indulge his addiction for his partner for as long as he could with no guilt at all.

 

### End


End file.
